Prologue

Roddick

“What the hell am I doing here?” I knew it was pointless to ask the question since I was clearly inside an interrogation room with one of those mirrors we’re supposed to pretend doesn’t have a shit ton of agents on the other side of it, uncomfortable metal chairs, and even the fucking swinging light bulb overhead. I was sitting inside a fucking stereotype. But I asked anyway because I hadn’t done shit wrong. “If you don’t have shit to say, I’m requesting a lawyer and invoking my right to remain silent.” Assholes thought they could bully me, but they would soon learn I was no chump.

The door finally opened and two suits walked in to the dimly lit room, the yellow tinged bulb flickering. Suit number one was a chick with red hair pulled into a ponytail, big green eyes, and freckles that made her look all of fifteen. The other dude might as well have been Captain fucking America with his slicked back blond hair and sharp blue eyes. They both wore ill-fitting suits that marked them as government agents rather than corporate types. “You’re in no position to make demands,” the redhead said.

I stared at her as though she hadn’t said a word. I was off fighting for Uncle Sam before she was even born, and I didn’t intimidate easily. Too bad for her. “Am I leaving, or is somebody gonna tell me what the fuck I’m doing here?”

The man took the seat across from me and pulled out a manila folder, a move I’d seen more than a few cops make over the years. In the movies. “I’m Agent Jack Brockton and that’s Molly Johnson. We’re part of a new task force assembled to deal with the cartels.” He laid out several photos of a truck burning in the desert. “This truck was found just outside of San Diego. Inside we found twenty people, still being identified. We’re pretty sure this truck belongs to the Mexican Devils.”

It wouldn’t surprise me if it did. The cartel’s main business was drugs, mostly heroin, but they also had houses of girls and women all over the country. “What does this have to do with me? I’m doing my part to keep this shit from crossing the border, you Feds are the ones falling down on the job.” Arms crossed, I waited for them to deny it and pretend they gave a damn.

Agent Pollyanna, I meant Molly, leaned forward with what was supposed to be a scowl on her face. “You’re not exactly on the right side of the law, are you?”

I leaned back and gave her my most charming grin. “If that was true, sweetheart, you’d have me in bracelets and trying to leverage some type of compromise, so cut the shit and tell me what you want.” I could tell she didn’t like my tone, but I didn’t give a damn. I didn’t like her tone either.

Brockton laughed and leaned back, kicking up his feet and crossing them at the ankles. He laid out photos of two more trucks burned to a crisp and photos of CAOS carrying Minx from that warehouse while some Devils took care of the trash that used to belong to our club, Wagman and Rocky. “We know what your club has been up to which is why we leave you alone. But now we need you boys to help us out, because this shit has gotten too big.”

“I’m listening.” Captain America was right about one thing, the Mexican Devils had been sending more drugs into the U.S. and more people into Mexico.

“We need your club to start taking shipments of drugs from the cartel so we can trace the drugs, but more importantly, we need to trace the cash. See where it turns up.”

I heard what he wasn’t saying loud and clear. “You think Lazarus has a boss.” Cash thought the same thing after meeting Lazarus, but I’d keep that info to myself. For now.

Agent Johnson sighed and got in my face. Again. “Don’t worry about what we think.”

“Call off your girl, Brockton.” She was seriously testing my patience with her Chihuahua routine. I didn’t believe in punching women, but this was no woman—she was a cop—a cop getting on my last nerve.

“We do,” Brockton answered, hardly sparing her a glance. “But we don’t know who it is, so we need to see where the money ends up. That’s where you come in.”

“And the club will be immune from anything done to help your task force?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe,” answered Pollyanna.

I stood and towered over the fiery redhead. “If that’s the case, I’ll take my chance with whatever dirt you think you have on me and my club.” I didn’t need this shit seeing as my guys were doing what the fucking Feds should be doing in the first place. “Good luck.”

“Wait!” Brockton stood and glared at Johnson before turning back to me. “Full immunity. Just do some deals and get us what we need.”

“I need to talk to the club first but yeah, okay.” Brockton held out his hand, and I took it. Dealing with him would be easier than the girl because guys like Brockton shot straight and only cared about getting the bad guys. “Get the paperwork drawn up. You’ll hear from me soon.”

“Make us wait too long and we’ll find a reason to do this with handcuffs.” Johnson was a real ballbuster but not even in a good way. One of those women who thought acting like a man was the best way. She probably had a set of cojones under that suit.

“Try it and I’ll tip off Lazarus.” With a whistle, I walked away.